How Legolas Claimed Two White handled Longknives
by Chathol-linn
Summary: Legolas comes of age, assisted by or in spite of a large cast of characters that is assembled and waiting for Legolas to rock and roll. Three parts, all completed.
1. Default Chapter

How Legolas Claimed Two White handled Longknives, Part One – "Spies"  
  
Early Adventures #6  
  
This is a three-part adventure, all of which are completed. It takes place in and around what later came to be called "The Mountains of Mirkwood." Herein Legolas comes of age, assisted by or in spite of, a large cast of characters that is assembled and waiting for Legolas to rock and roll. The terrific artist John Gonzalez has produced an illustration for the third part. The first part has "Blade-spell," "The Dreams of Orcs," "His First War Council," and "To Market, To Market."  
  
This adventure stands on its own, mostly, but will be more meaningful if you have read "Elflocks" and "The Olórë Mallë" As always, I am borrowing the world of JRR Tolkien, whose work I love and respect, and I promise to return it unharmed. © Chathol-linn, December, 2002. Feel free to print this story.  
  
***Blade-spell***  
  
Now a wise wizard once cautioned that there are many magic things in this world and none of them should be used lightly. A pair of white-handled longknives is a magical thing. The pair in this story are the fabled longknives that passed through many hands before reaching their rightful owner who needed them for a war; you know of whom I speak.  
  
Their Elvish maker was a smith nicknamed "Sickle" and maybe was kin to Blade-singer. Sickle was pregnant with twins when she stood before her forge. She sang magic songs of balance and battle as she made the blades and blessed them. "When the music of the Ainur decrees, you shall call the dancers and they shall come," she told the blades, referring to Fate as Elves know it and speaking with the Sight.   
  
Sickle's husband was a soldier for the Prince of Ithilien, and he carried the longknives in the Battle of the Last Alliance. He lost his life there by the battlefield smithy and dropped the knives, where they called to Zalog the Orc for the first time. Zalog lost everything but his horrid life in that battle and passed the knives to no less a hero than Elrond himself.   
  
The knives called to Elrond, who plucked them from the bodies of two nameless soldiers, twin brothers. In those days Elrond was a great general and wise, but not fully the loremaster he later became. He could not read the filigreed writing on the beautiful blades but he thought it was the ancient tree-alphabet. Before returning to Rivendell he gave the knives to his kin in the forest of Lothlorien. If anyone could read the tree-alphabet it would be Galadriel the Noldor. But the knives did not call to Galadriel till centuries later.   
  
One day the Lothloriens went visiting the King of the Wood-Elves, Thranduil. The knives spoke up in Galadriel's mind and she said, "The white-handled longknives are beautiful, and maybe the Wood-Elves can read the lettered blades. Take them to the king for the guest-gift." This they did, but in the very instant when the blades were about to pass to the House of Thranduil, the mischief of a certain Prince intervened. Then the blades called to the Dwarves, for Ibun the Strange took them next. They stayed for a while with the Dwarves.   
  
Then Prince Legolas encountered Zalog on the Olórë Mallë and when he returned from the dream, the knives were calling him. Now the Elves know well there are forces at work for good and evil, often Unseen, sometimes dreamed. So the Greenwood Sindar should not have been surprised when, in the hour Legolas awoke from the Olórë Mallë, both sides made a move. The Orcs moved first.  
  
***The Dreams of Orcs***  
  
Two hundred fifty years of unremitting burn-pain, nearly two long-years to contemplate the insertion of an Elf-mind into his own, and Zalog was just as mad as a dragon. That an Elf who was not even born could enter his thoughts and learn the secret of his maimed hands! The idea baffled Zalog, rebuked his sense of mastery, and sent him up and down peaks of dementia in the arms of pain and rage. His followers lived in awe and on bad days, in terror; they had not seen the likes of Zalog since Sauron's demise.   
  
Zalog's madness did not interfere with his uncanny ability to hide the Orcs in the cellars of the southern mountains or to execute small, precise raids on the surrounding Mortal villages. Zalog kept the raids secret because he did not burn the villages and he left no witnesses except prisoner slaves, who died soon and gratefully. Zalog liked raids; they diverted him from the pain of his scorched hands. His other diversion was plotting the capture, torture, and murder of the Elf-King to the north, or better, the king-spawn whose touch tainted his thoughts to this day.   
  
In the hour that Legolas awakened from the Olórë Mallë, the knives called to Zalog's madness and exploded it like the fire-mountain of Mordor. Then concealment and waiting were done. Zalog needed Elf-bait to lure the Greenwood Elves. He had his pick of the Silvan Elves who were native to the southern mountains and called Thranduil kin if not king. Zalog chose Amdir, Niël and their children. Like most Silvans the family lived at the eastern edge of the mountains. Their home was a beech tree high above the ground. It was autumn, and the autumn had been dry. That day, the gold and red leaves crackled with color like fire. That night, the gold and red crackles came from the pitch fire Zalog set, burning the treehouse and its Elves to cinders.   
  
The Orcs were careful to catch Amdir away from home; only his family was to be killed. They bound him the better to let him hear the fire song and the screams. Then Zalog plunged his filthy finger into Amdir's right eye, laughed, and rolled off to fitful rest. That night, Amdir summoned his strength, broke his bonds, and crept out of the Orc camp. At the foot of the hills he found a live donkey tethered to a tree. He did not question this good fortune. He mounted the donkey and like Elves' way with all good animals, it minded him well. Amdir headed east the quicker to break through the forest and then north along the tree line. Zalog's spotters marked his movements every league or so until they were sure he headed toward the Forest River. Soon, if he did not die of his injuries or grief, Amdir would be at the hall of his fiery-tempered kinsman, Thranduil.   
  
If all went well, the king would come with his army and his son to protect the Silvans and rout the Orcs. They would ride straight into the biggest ambush since the Second Age. This, Zalog believed, would return him to the Orc-sanity he had enjoyed during the days of Sauron. As if to agree, the pain in his hands lessened a little. Such are the dreams of Orcs.  
  
***His First War Council***  
  
In the hour Legolas awoke from the Olóre Mallë, he recounted his experience as a dream-passenger in Zalog's mind and Thranduil convened a war council. "We will consider the meaning of this vision of Orcs in the southern mountains," he said.   
  
They met at once in Bessain's fire-lighted kitchen where the evening chill did not come. Thranduil's senior counselors were his Weaponsmistress the Blade-singer, her captains Berendil, Huntress, Tûr, and Telien, and Queen Elsila. Lately Thranduil had been including his daughter-heir Elwen. Now Legolas realized with joy that Thranduil meant him to join them. Legolas sat by Berendil at Bessain's kitchen table and she served them hot mulled cider. Legolas savored a new spice in the familiar drink: a taste of adulthood.   
  
Thranduil began, "Son, you returned from your dream and spoke of Orcs and a guest-gift of white-handled longknives. Do you mean that visit we had of the Lothloriens?"  
  
Suddenly Legolas realized he could not say a word about the longknives without compromising the oath of silence he had taken and persuaded Arwen and Elwen to take. How he longed to answer! To say,  
  
"The longknives were the guest-gift of the Lothloriens. But a demented Dwarf took them from our visitors and went off to the Lonely Mountain. He left us – Arwen, Elwen and me – chained near the Mortal's keep on our northeastern border. We escaped the chains and found our horses just in time to flee before sundown."   
  
Or to add the detail that would relieve his conscience: "We had to cross the border to get the horses."   
  
Thranduil would be more interested in locating Orcs than pursuing the story of the longknives. Still, if he commanded his son to explain himself, then Legolas would keep no more secrets. He would tell of the honey in the garland, the bee stings, the revenge of Elwen and Arwen, the Dwarf capture, the elflocks escape, the prohibited border crossing, and worst, the oath of silence till they all came of age. Legolas could guess what his elders would think. Breaking the stated rule to escape danger was excusable – unless you caused the danger through mischief and then swore to keep silent about it. At very least, Legolas imagined, they would invoke the penalty of the stated rule, and that would be the ignominious end to his first war council. Unthinkably worse, he would be foresworn.  
  
Be a Prince, the seeress had said.   
  
All this flashed through his mind as Legolas sat there, seeing his credibility and status vanish into disgrace. For the hundred and forty-fourth time he cursed inwardly at secrets kept from his family. A heartfelt desire to be of age and confess swept through him.   
  
Thranduil said, "Legolas?"  
  
Just when Legolas thought he would have to run from the room, help came from an unexpected direction.   
  
"Theall the Dwarf-lord holds the longknives," said Bessain, giving Legolas a sharp glance. "I did him a service once and he repays me to this day with courtesy. And information."  
  
"How is it that my cook has dealings with uncertain friends without my knowledge or consent?" said Thranduil.  
  
Thranduil's displeasure did not disturb Bessain. She said, "Theall's son Ibun is unwell. He cannot speak Dwarf-speech and is - strange. Theall took his family to dwell away from the Dwarf-realm in Moria so that Ibun would not feel an outsider. Some years ago I found Ibun wandering alone and lost on the Forest Path. I kept him safe and sent for his father. For taking care of his only son, Theall says he is in my debt. To me he is steadfast. His king in Moria counts him a loyal agent who deals with the Dwarves from the Iron Hills and the Mortals of Wild Water Village [a town near the Dwarf Road]. He is no uncertain friend, Milord King."  
  
"I ask pardon, Bessain. There is no uncertainty in kindness. But how did you tame a mad Dwarf?"  
  
"I gave him lembas," said Bessain.   
  
Every astonished face turned to the Elf-woman of highest rank. Only Elven Queens made lembas and they would never give it to mortal beings. Thranduil hesitated, trying to craft a question to the womenfolk on this delicate matter but Elsila saved him the trouble.  
  
"Bessain, my friend. When you came from Hollin to teach me the healing arts, you gave up your rank and made no more lembas. But I am not very domestic," and Elsila exchanged a smile with Thranduil. "So I gave you my rights regarding lembas and you gave me the skills to be a good healer. Bessain and I have what we like best – I the healing and she the nourishment of our folk."  
  
"Well! Ibun was honored indeed," said Thranduil, in love all over again with Elsila, who could always surprise him. "No doubt it is the first and last time an Elf-lady gives lembas to a Dwarf. But how did the longknives come to Theall?"  
  
"I do not know," said Bessain. (Legolas and Elwen knew, of course, but they were not talking.) "Theall sent me a message two years ago, asking if I knew the owner. I did not. Since Theall is both honest and well-traveled, I asked him to take the knives in trust and search for the owner. His message to me says, he has not found anyone who knows or wants the longknives. He returns with them now from Moria to Wild Water Village for the autumn market fair."  
  
Then the longknives called to Legolas and inspired, he found a way to turn the talk toward Orcs. He said, "We must send spies south to the mountains, by way of the market fair."  
  
Thranduil knew at once it was a good idea. The first principle of battle was to know the enemy as well as possible. The location of Wild Water Village was perfect – near the Dwarf-Road and the southern mountains and prudently east of the conjunction of the River Running and Foothills River. The meeting waters gave the town its name.  
  
"Everyone visits the autumn market fair," said Bessain. "Dwarves, Mortals, Elves. If Orcs are active in the south we will learn it. We can go marketing, and then ride to the mountains, seeming to visit our Silvan kin."   
  
"We will send spies," decided Thranduil. "You, Blade-singer, and Berendil and Tûr. Bessain, you will go as far as the village, and return with your marketing."   
  
Bessain said, "There is another who must go, Thranduil. Or else, not all will be achieved."  
  
Legolas thought, Bessain, my thanks are numberless.   
  
"Who?" asked Thranduil.  
  
"Elwen. I wish to renew my friendship with Theall. But I am only the kitchen wench of the House of Thranduil, not its heiress. Theall will be pleased to receive Elwen and will respect my courtesy for thinking of it. His king will hear of it and be pleased also. It is good to have kings for friends, Milord King."  
  
"Elwen shall go," he said. Elwen bowed her thanks, restraining an urge to clap her hands. It was a perfect assignment for the apprentice ruler.   
  
"You will leave day after tomorrow. Legolas, we thank you for the warning that came in your vision, and for your good idea," said Thranduil. "Good night, all." But Legolas stayed behind. He had a favor to ask his father and Thranduil knew it.   
  
While Bessain lit candles with a twig from the fireplace, Legolas considered his long day. The time from his visionary hunt with Berendil to the council's conclusion was the afternoon of an autumn day. It felt like a weary week. Possessed of a deep equilibrium all his life, Legolas was unused to the mood swings of today. He was now of an age to feel moody, but that was little to the self possession of Legolas. He knew only that one moment he pined for his waning boyhood; the next he faced situations that would have challenged his elders (incurring the dream-hate of Zalog for instance). The vision on the Olórë Mallë with its doubled memories played havoc with his time-sense. The longknives called him and the old vow of secrecy stilled him to troubled silence. Now the cold touch of Zalog's poisonous mind aggravated every ill feeling and diminished the hope in Saelon's fantastic prophecies. All this and the tensions of the council left him uncharacteristically tired and sad. He went to Bessain's work table, neat and ready for the next morning's activities. She kept a jar of honey there but he found he did not want it.   
  
How to ask without sounding like a youngster teasing for a sweet? "I should go with them," he said finally. Thranduil, who of course had been expecting this, started to reply that he was too young. Then he looked hard at his son. He saw that Legolas was no longer the slender lad he had been the night he slew Ruler and proved his bowmanship. The length of his limbs and the breadth of his shoulders were those of a youth. Even his face had lost that thin, big-eyed child-look that to this day the Mortals call "elfin."  
  
Bessain said, "Let him go, Thranduil. He is fated to go. It was his vision. He will not be far from your borders, and he goes with your best warriors. It is not the Second Age, you know, when we put a sword in every tiny hand save those that might be healers. Legolas goes to spy not fight."  
  
"It could well be to fight," said Thranduil, not knowing how truly he spoke. "Still, you are right, as usual. The times are as peaceful now as they are ever likely to be. And he cannot learn all he needs to know from the practice field and hunts in the forest. Legolas, you may go. I charge you to obey the captains." He added a guarded thought: When the journey is done you shall tell me the secret you keep about those knives. I see it is not Arwen that makes you sad, or not entirely.  
  
Joy bounded in his heart on two levels. Legolas bowed and said aloud, "Father, I will." He went to prepare for the journey, nearly dancing.  
  
***To Market, To Market***  
  
The six Elves who gathered by the Forest River bridge looked more like a party than a party of spies. Legolas forgot his moodiness for pleasure of his first long trip from home. The others were smiling, checking their gear and mounts.  
  
"Good morning!" Elsila called, padding across the bridge hand in hand with Thranduil. She wore her usual house robes of silver-grey with a blue and white girdle. The colors matched her exotic eyes exactly. Telien followed with a towel-wrapped jug and a stack of birch bark cups.  
  
"We came to see you off," said Elsila, "and give you some cheer." Telien passed around the cups and poured hot mulled apple wine. They drank and it was delicious.   
  
Elsila was a favorite of all and especially her best friend Bessain the Bread-giver. "Do you have your market list?" she asked.  
  
"Yes, it is here," said Bessain. "Plenty of candles, as much soap as I can find [Elsila permitted no soap making because of the smell], a surprise of my choosing, mulling spices, and a winter's order of red grape wine from Dorwinion. I am to be bursar, and I have in my purse a piece of gold divided into dozenths."   
  
"You will like the marketing," said Thranduil, smiling. "The mayor has in his service a town crier - his brother by marriage - whose job it is to walk the streets and piers. On market days and fairs he shouts the news, and the wares and prices of all the stalls and vendors."  
  
"I hear he shouts loudest for vendors who give him something for his trouble," said Tûr.  
  
"True," said Bessain, with a smile. "And what he likes best for his trouble is ale. So crafty buyers come to market while he is still sober. By noon, he confuses the wares and the stalls, and the news is no more credible than it should be."  
  
"He tells stories about his troubles in love," said Thranduil, laughing. "By afternoon, you can see the goodwives chasing him with their brooms!"  
  
They all laughed. "Milord, what fools these Mortals be!" said Tûr and Telien together, quoting an Elven proverb.  
  
Elsila kissed them goodbye and Thranduil clasped their hands. Elsila said, "Legolas, I give you this as a token of your trip." She produced an arrow from the folds of her gown.  
  
"It is beautiful," said Legolas. The shaft and fletching were colored gold, but the crystal arrowhead was a diamond. "Varda in Arda" Elves called it sometimes - the sharpest, hardest substance in Middle-earth, yet sparkling like stars. "Where did it come from?"  
  
"It was a gift long ago," Elsila said. Berendil and Bessain exchanged glances." It reminds me of you."  
  
"Then it shall remind me of you," said Legolas. "I will never spend it. [He was right about this.] Thank you." The gold arrow stood out in his quiver among the green shafts and fletchings.   
  
"Well, farewell," said Thranduil. "Blade-singer, you are leader. Remember your mission. Take care. May stars shine upon your way." The merry group rode down the path: the first assembly of characters moving toward the tangle of events that was to come.  
  
ontinued in "How Legolas Claimed Two White-handled Longknives, Part Two – 'Willofain' "  
  
END NOTES   
  
1. See "The Atlas of Middle-earth," Karen Wynn Fonstad, page 76, for the location of the mountains of Mirkwood.  
2. See "Morgoth's Ring," JRR Tolkien, "Of Lembas" re the rights of Elf-women to make and give lembas.  
3. See "A Midsummer Night's Dream," W. Shakespeare, Act III, Scene 2, for a Fairy proverb on Mortals.  
4. See "Elflocks – How Legolas Cured His Sister of Teasing" and "Legolas and the Olórë Mallë," Chathol-linn, for more on Legolas's unwise oath of silence, and his encounters with memory, prophecy, and dreams.  
5. See many sites for the definition of and responsibilities toward oaths. Two examples are http://www.northvegr.org/northern/book/oaths.html and http://www.ealdriht.org/oathsmat.html  
6. The tree alphabet is not in JRR Tolkien's canon. See "The White Goddess," Robert Graves. See also "The Lunar Calendar" (an actual calendar) by Luna Press that uses 13 letters in the tree alphabet.


	2. How Legolas Claimed Two White handled Lo...

How Legolas Claimed Two White handled Longknives - Part Two, "Willofain"   
  
Early Adventures #7   
  
Part Two continues the adventure of the longknives. This part has the scenes "Blade Dance" and "Weeping Willow." The entire work is complete and finished in Part Three, The Legend of Legolas. As always, I am borrowing the world of JRR Tolkien, whose work I love and respect, and I promise to return it unharmed. © Chathol-linn, December 13, 2002.   
  
***  
Thranduil's six spies were not the only ones headed for the autumn market fair at Wild Water Village. Theall the Dwarf-lord went every year, always lodging in the best rooms of the best inn, Master Bruno's Swan and Cygnet. Elves attended sometimes, and all who saw them told the story to their grandchildren. Mortals from all over came to trade their surplus weavings, leathers, pots and whatnot for laying hens, milch goats, and other provisions for winter. Musicians came; it was the best place to be heard and become famous. The ale and wine were good too. Even poor folk came, with no money or goods to trade, because one could get work at the inns and taverns, or with the water coach and guard services provided by Harald the mayor.   
  
Many stories could be told of the characters in this town, starting with Harald and his brother by marriage, the town crier that kept no secrets about love. Bruno's inn had seen as almost as many interesting things as the Quill and Inkpot on the lower side of town. The autumn market fair had its own stories, for it was the best loved and attended event in that part of the world.   
  
With so much traffic from the fair, Zalog's spotters were under strict orders to attract no attention and look out only for Elves. Zalog expected the van guard of an army – Thranduil's army – to come marching down the forest edge soon, and the Orcs' presence was to be a secret until the last moment of the ambush. The Orcs held Zalog in such fear that they mostly obeyed. This was fortunate for Mortals and Dwarves.  
  
***Blade Dance***  
  
While Amdir the One-Eye came north as fast as he could, Thranduil's spies went south at their leisure. Wild Water Village was fifteen leagues away, a long hard day's ride south of Long Lake down the River Running. The spies were in no hurry, riding easily under black tree-skeletons topped with foliage painted red and gold by Arda's autumn paintbrush. Berendil wove the colors into a light dream as he rode. At the same time he was thinking battle thoughts. He believed Legolas's dream. He remembered well the night he had looked into Zalog's eyes and seen … Legolas? He fully expected to hear rumors of Orc-war in the taverns of the town. He was deep in thoughts of how to scout the southern mountains when Legolas rode to his side.  
  
"Uncle? When will I come of age?"  
  
Berendil knew why there were so few youngsters among the Elves of that time. He also knew that after Legolas, he would never be uncle again. "Some day you will face a situation that calls for an adult decision and there will be no one to help you," he replied. "If you respond correctly, your parents will make an announcement. In the old days, it was usually your first battle with the servants of Sauron. It can be any test of your courage and judgment."  
  
"Will it take as long as it did with Elwen?"   
  
"Maybe not. Elwen was born to rule, and kings need long and careful training. It is a boon to raise a king in peacetime – no need to rush. But for you," Berendil hesitated.   
  
Then: "You are fated to be here on this trip. I feel it. Your waking vision, your dream, your prophecy. Your unmatched prowess with the bow. We elders think you have some higher destiny ahead. This mystery of …the longknives and Zalog. I fought that Orc the night that Blade-singer and Huntress came to our hall. I remember looking into his eyes. What did I see, Legolas? Were you really in his mind? What was it like?"   
  
Legolas said, "They are capable of things I wish I had not seen. They are creatures of hate and rage only. Yet the pain and torment they inflict is only their way of trying to save themselves. Deep down they hate their Master more than Elves. I pity Orcs."  
  
"Do not let your pity stop you from killing them, for they know no mercy," said Berendil. "If they let you live it is for their purpose. If they keep faith, it is by accident."  
  
"I know. Zalog hates me for my pity. Maybe his thoughts will poison mine and pull me down some evil road. Unless he kills me, or I kill him with those longknives he fears."  
  
"If killing Zalog is your test, Legolas, you do not need the longknives to do it."  
  
Legolas was not so sure. "Even with the touch of Zalog in my mind? Even if he fears them? There is a connection. I know it. I feel them calling to me."   
  
Berendil sighed. "Enough questions for which there are no answers. Put Zalog out of your thoughts for now. Enjoy this day! Or go ask Blade-singer to set you some task."  
  
"I will do both, Uncle, and leave you in peace," said Legolas agreeably.  
  
By afternoon they covered their allotted distance and found a pleasant glade by a stream.   
"Let us stop here," Elwen said. "The stars will be fair tonight. If we continue we will come to the village in the middle of the night and shall have to take lodgings there."  
  
Everyone agreed. Who is more contented out of doors than Wood-Elves? They tended the horses in minutes, prepared comfortable seats on the ground, made a fire, started supper. They would not let Bessain cook. Tûr produced more mulled wine, courtesy of Telien.   
  
Legolas approached Blade-singer with a request. "Remember when you said I might like knives better than swords? You were right. Can you give me a lesson in knife-fighting?"  
  
"Gladly," said Blade-singer. "Take my two long fighting-knives and I will use sticks of the same length. Remember, Legolas: all moves are fair in a knife fight. Look for patterns in your opponents' moves. Get in close quickly, by choice and chance. Slash or stab as opportunity presents. Move out quickly. I will teach you the value of changing leads. Avoid getting wounded, but if you must take a lesser wound to inflict a greater one, do so. Go for the heart, belly, neck, limbs. Kill or maim first and fast. Those are the 'rules.'"   
  
Legolas and Blade-singer began. Even slowing down for the beginner, Blade-singer rapped the knives held by Legolas six times in succession, got under his guard, poked him in the ribs – both sides – and flipped one knife out of his hand. Legolas never got near to getting past her guard.   
  
The others lay watching by the fire. "Blade-singer," called Berendil, "his trouble is with the size of the handles. Look!" Then Legolas realized he was taller than Blade-singer (when had that happened?) and his long-fingered hands were larger.  
  
"It is so," agreed Blade-singer, looking. "Legolas, these knives were made especially for my small hands. You cannot grasp them effectively. Give me back the knives and take the sticks. I will show you how to grip them."  
  
Then Legolas began to do much better, as if he had been fighting with stick-knives forever. He said, smiling, "I see the trick of winning. You have to get in and out quickly, as you said. You have to dance. If you are Blade-singer, then I will be Blade-dancer."   
  
(Afterwards on his northern travels with the sons of Elrond and Isildur's heirs, "Blade-dance" was the nickname that stuck; other ones being "Hey, Archer" and "Lord Legolas." But it was "Blade-dance" that folk remembered whenever Legolas faced someone and said quietly, "Do you wish to dance?")  
  
Their exercise and the afternoon sun heated them. Legolas stripped off his boots, breeches and shirt and wore only his breechcloth. Blade-singer wore her scant practice clothes that were designed for fighting. Sometimes they laughed like Tulkas, and sometimes they spun about in silent, naked concentration. Finally Berendil bade them stop and come to supper. So they pulled off the rest of their clothes and fell into the stream for a bath. Drying off on linen towels, they dressed in hunting attire from the saddle bags and came to supper with appetites like bears.   
  
Afterwards they sang a song of Elbereth and then went to rest. Legolas felt the pupils of his eyes elongating into that look characteristic of an Elf in repose. The last thing he saw before the Path of Dreams was the Sickle of the Valar in a field of stars.  
  
Amdir passed them on his way to Thranduil. If only he had been closer he would have heard the eldritch voices raised in praise of the stars. Then they might have met. From Amdir's story they would have learned of the stirring of the Orcs. They could have abandoned their spy mission as no longer necessary and returned to Thranduil for new counsel. Then events would have taken a different turn. But Amdir passed them by.   
  
That is not to say the spies went unnoticed. While Blade-singer was giving Legolas his first lesson in knife-fighting, a ragged young Mortal watched for a while from behind some thickets. She was starving and desperate. Her name was Willofain.   
  
***Weeping Willow***  
  
She was an orphan from the tiny village of "Go-fast" in the foothills of the southern mountains. Anyone who set out from the village had better go fast, for to linger in the forest was perilous. Willofain dwelt with the poorest family in the village. They would have starved if not for fish and game, for their crops failed year after year and sometimes they lived on the charity of others. Uncle Balec bore this humiliation patiently. He answered his misfortune by never giving up, but he never tried anything different either. He and Aunt Manta never dreamed of leaving the village.  
  
Willofain the outsider dreamed differently. She thought of leaving all the time. She looked different too, with her dead mother's blonde hair and height. At sixteen she stood five feet eight inches – a head taller than her cousins. She never had enough to eat and so was slender. Her face was thin and it made her cheekbones prominent and her blue eyes big. Manta cut the matted hair short under a bowl to curtail lice and fleas. Willofain wore layers of dirt like everyone else and the only way she knew of her differences was from the villagers' remarks. She had never seen her own face.   
  
Willofain had no map and could not read anyway, but she always listened closely to the few men who left the village to trade (or more likely, steal) tools and weapons at the nearest town. Wild Water Village was not so far, she gathered, if one cut straight through the forest toward the Dwarf Road. She thought her odds would be fair. She had woodcraft from being raised in a village that was little more than a clearing in the Great Greenwood. The prospect of spending her life in Go-Fast scared her badly. So she made a plan.   
  
Like all girls, she could spin with a drop spindle, anytime, without thinking. White fibers are plentiful in a forest. Willofain spun and braided many long lengths of strong pale string. Early one morning she went to the forest edge and tied one end of one length to a slender sapling. Using her sense of the sun she walked east, trailing string behind her and then tied its far end to another slender tree. Walking back along her trail she tied string loops around the trunks of trees. The next morning she went directly to the end of her first string and started east again. She did this almost every day that summer. She always tried to use beech trees, to aid her memory and trail craft. By fall, Willofain's trail of string-looped trees led almost to the eastern edge of the forest.   
  
One day while tilling the onion patch Willofain found a firestone. This was great fortune. If you struck a piece of flint with firestone the right way, a spark would fly. Thereafter Willofain collected flint rocks and handfuls of dry leaves for tinder. She cached some of it along her string trail, happy that the weather was dry. A campfire would provide both sheltering warmth and defense against animals.  
  
There was no spare food, none, or any way to carry water. Willofain made do with a gourd dipper and a hope that she would find drinkable water. At least she had shoes of a sort: leather sandal-soles tied on with leather thongs. She could make a walking stick.  
  
That was it: a string trail, a bag of rocks and some tinder, a gourd dipper, a walking stick, the shoes on her feet, the rags on her back, and the courage in her desperate heart.   
  
On the day that Legolas saw his visions on the Olórë Mallë, Willofain rose while her adopted family still slept. They had taken her in and cared for her the best they could. Of all the things they had not given her, love was the greatest. But if they had no energy left over for love it was not their fault and she lay no blame. She gave them what she could in farewell – falling tears and a spray of goldenrod laid on the table. Then she left without looking back. Two days later, wraithlike and fainting from hunger, she broke through the tree line and heard strange voices. She crept behind some bushes to see if they had food. What she saw were creatures unlike anyone she had ever seen before – Elves. Blade-singer and Legolas at their blade play.   
  
***  
After a while Willofain backed away and hid. What strange beings they were – so beautiful, so utterly at ease in their world. Had they been a dream? No, for she felt kinship with the one who had no clothes or weapons. The others seemed rich enough with their horses and other gear. Perhaps he was an orphan like herself? That must be it; he was an orphan and they had adopted him.   
  
They say that hunger heightens the senses and the psyche; if so, Willofain bordered on the mystic that day. Her mind's eye saw the youth's body as if it moved before her still: bare shoulders made broad through practice with the bow, hard muscles defined in the buttocks and long legs, the crease of spine down his back. When he spun to move his fighting sticks, the triangular wings of his breechcloth flew about and showed the middle strip that wrapped him tightly between the thighs. She thought, her head buzzing, how good it would be to meet this … Elf; to talk about their shared experiences. Maybe, even, he would know of some task she could do, so the Elves would take her into their service.   
  
Willofain wished mightily to give the orphan Elf a gift but of course she had nothing. But wait. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and Willofain was sincere. Remembering how they had laughed while bathing, Willofain pulled off her clothes and stepped cautiously into the stream. One of the Elves had pulled up a plant and given its root to the bathers, who crushed it in their hands. They used the resulting lather to wash their hair and bodies. Willofain found the plant, pulled up three roots, and used the lather for washing. And she experienced a marvelous thing.  
  
Why had she not done this before? How good it felt to be clean. She rubbed the soap-root on her body; she dipped below the cool waters again and again. She combed lather through her short hair with her fingers. She gathered her woolen homespun tunic and breeches and washed them as well, twice.  
  
Dressed in her damp rags, Willofain realized she had better start walking, for warmth and to dry the clothes. She was still starving but her bath had given her a feeling of well-being she had not known was possible. I can go one more day, she told herself, and I will not beg them for food. Skirting the Elves' camp carefully she headed south along the tree line. Walking was easier this way and soon she would be on the Dwarf Road that led straight to Wild Water Village.  
  
She stepped lightly, looking better than she knew. Hope lighted her face for she had seen the world of Elves. And with her bowl-shaped blonde hair, thin face and body, and odd height, she looked, remarkably, like Blade-singer.   
  
Finished in "The Legend of Legolas" – Longknives, Part Three  
  
END NOTES   
  
1. See www.cs.brown.edu/fun/welsh/LexiconEW.html , English to Welsh lexicon, ©copyright 1995-1996 Mark H. Nodine. Source of the name "Willofain" from "wylofain" meaning "wailing" or "to weep." Thanks, Mark.  
  
2. "Firestone" is the mineral known to Dwarves as "fools' gold" and to the knowledgeable Elves as "ironstone." Another name is "iron pyrite."  



	3. How Legolas Claimed Two White handled Lo...

How Legolas Claimed Two White-handled Longknives Conclusion - The Legend of Legolas  
  
Early Adventures #8  
  
This completes the "Longknives" adventure in which Legolas gets to rock and roll and finally comes of age. It has the scenes "What Dreams May Come", "Elwen and Willofain", and "Good-night, Sweet Prince." The terrific artist John Gonzalez has provided a pen and ink illustration which I have submitted within this document per the artist's e-mail permission. I hope it survives the cut and paste. As always, I am borrowing the world of JRR Tolkien, whose work I love and respect, and I promise to return it unharmed. © Chathol-linn, January, 2003.   
  
***What Dreams May Come***  
  
"In her dream Willofain saw the orphan Elf among dark trees, with terrible enemies all around. She lay bound on the ground. Above her, the Elf loomed from a high place and in his hands …" - - "How Legolas Claimed Two White-handled Longknives Part Two"  
  
***  
Legolas was dreaming too, retracing his steps on the Olórë Mallë of two nights ago. As before, he walked toward Saelon's cave of prophecy. As before, Elwen and Elsila walked with him, Elwen facing forward and Elsila backward. For some reason this disturbed him. Legolas made his mind go "outer," returning to the Seen world. The pupils of his eyes resumed their waking state and he rose from his camp bed.   
  
Change was coming; he felt it in the air. His intuition, highly developed even for an Elf, told him there might be a short respite, but very soon his world and the people in it would be different. Taking up his bow and quiver, he went to his horse Golden and sprang up on her bare back. He rode a ways from camp, wishing to leave his disquiet behind but it stayed. He dismounted, set his weapons aside, and went from under the trees to a clearing where he could see the twinkling stars, more brilliant than his diamond-tipped arrow. Lifting his face to the sky, Legolas gave quiet tribute in Quenya to Elbereth:  
  
Holy, lovely are the works of thy hands, Kindler of the Stars.  
Love of all Arda abides within the Star-Folk, my people.  
Accept my thanks and my praise, O Varda.  
  
The affirmation quieted his feä. He heard a noise behind him. He turned and said, surprised: "Blade-singer? What are you doing with my bow?"  
  
His eyes deceived him only a second. Then by starlight he saw the person was not Blade-singer but a Mortal who held his bow, Berendil's gift, with a strung arrow. The strange Sindarin words must have startled her because she jerked, and the next thing Legolas knew, pain blossomed under his collarbone. His own green arrow jutted from his right breast.   
  
"Oh!" he said, and then demented howls split the forest night into pieces. Zalog's Orcs had lost interest in Willofain. They had found the Elves' camp and taken them all unawares.  
  
***  
  
The Elven heroes of old, when desperate, fought with strategies like Fingon, or they went mad like Fingolfin and called Morgoth lord of slaves to his face. Given a choice, Legolas preferred strategy. It was Thranduil's favorite subject and he taught Legolas that the first thing to do was gather information about the enemy. So Legolas, with arrow still in his breast, crept upon the place of the captives. It was not good.   
  
By the light of the camp fire he saw Zalog's Orcs. They had hung Elwen, Berendil, and Blade-singer by their arms, wrists bound to branches above them and their backs to a tree. Their feet were inches off the ground. Tûr, Bessain, and a Dwarf hung from the next tree the same. Their weapons lay in a heap nearby, unreachable.   
  
Legolas shuddered to think what Zalog would do if he learned the identity of the Elven captives. Zalog knew him, hated him, and Legolas had been inside Zalog's mind. Legolas kept his thoughts under guard in case the link still existed, but it did no good. Zalog, who was a tall Mordor Orc bred by Sauron, grabbed Blade-singer's face with his clawed hand. He said, "I know you. I meant to kill you that night by the hall of the stinking Elf-King. Before I am done you will wish I had succeeded."   
  
To Berendil he said, "You meant to kill me that same night," and Berendil responded, "Before I am done you will wish I had succeeded."   
  
Zalog laughed, a grotesque sound, and picked an Elf arrow from the pile. He plunged it, not into Berendil, but into Elwen's shoulder, a mirror image of Legolas's wound. "You keep ill company, She-Elf. Are you spawn of that king, maybe? Part of the van of his army?" Elwen kept silent, wondering: what army?   
  
"We will have good sport," Zalog promised her. "When your sire walks into my trap, I will nail him high up where he can see it all as he dies screaming."  
  
That was enough for Legolas. Stealthy as a wild cat he withdrew. He was a Wood-Elf, taught woodcraft by Huntress. He stepped on no dry stick. No Orc marked him as he fell back to the glade where Willofain and Ibun lay hid next to Golden. In trailing Willofain through the night, Ibun had once again, luckily, wandered away from Theall and found an Elf.   
  
Legolas said, "The Orcs hold our folk captive. They will kill them slowly for sport. Do you understand?" By starlight he saw anger burning in Ibun's cloudy eyes; fear in Willofain's.  
  
"There are twenty-two but we can do it! Felagund of old came upon thirty Orcs, and his band killed them all."   
  
Legolas did not add that Felagund's band had been twelve, not three, and each a seasoned warrior. Whereas his own band consisted of Willofain the Mortal, Ibun the Dwarf, and Legolas the Elf. He thought, Never again will three such companions go to rescue captives from Orcs. And of us three, only two are trained in weapons, one of the two is not right in the head and the other is wounded. Thranduil, I wish you were here!   
  
But the nearest they had to a warrior king was himself, the warrior king's son. Legolas blessed his years of training by the likes of Blade-singer and Berendil. He thanked Berendil in his heart for making him learn to shoot left-handed, and he strove to make a plan, while blood flowed from his wound.   
  
Legolas said "We will rescue them, but first this arrow must come out."   
  
He could hear tears in her voice. "I did not mean to hurt you! I came to give you these knives."   
  
Legolas said gently, "There is something you do not know, Willofain. The knives already belong to my father – given as a gift but stolen by Ibun. He did not know what he did – see his eyes?"   
  
"I have failed in my gift-giving," she said miserably.  
  
"No, I thank you for their return. And I give you leave to handle them. Indeed, you must, after you help with this wound. Does the arrowhead come through my back?"  
  
"No," they told him, and he sighed. He pushed back his tunic and shirt and braced against a tree.  
  
"Ibun must push the arrow through my body," he said, "break off the head, and pull it free. Willofain, hold me." Her heart raced to hold him. She placed her hands on him and felt the curve of his arm, the strong beat of his blood.  
  
Legolas closed his eyes, imagining Thranduil at ease in his chamber, booted feet on the table, wine cup at hand. He was speaking of battle strategy: "You must assess terrain, numbers, weapons, surprise, and opportunistic leadership. When you command, Legolas…"   
  
Here Legolas felt the metal arrow head tear deep into his living flesh. To Ibun's credit he was fast. The arrow pushed through the skin of his back at once. Legolas heard a crack as Ibun broke off the head. Then the wooden shaft pulled back through his body. The sun exploded behind his eyelids. Legolas did not cry out, but he left his body for a moment to deal with the Orcs who were tormenting him.  
  
When he returned to himself, Willofain lay twelve feet away, out cold by the hand of Legolas. Ibun, stalwart as a stone, lay nearer but was unconscious also. There was blood on the rock under his head. After a time Ibun stirred and rose, shaking his head and beard. Then he amazed Legolas by speaking a language he had never heard. Legolas could see by faint light that Ibun's eyes were no longer cloudy but clear and lighted with delight as by magic.   
  
Willofain sat up next, groaning. She said, "The arrow is out. What shall we do now?"  
  
Legolas said, "Fight. My father says, in battle turn weakness to strength. The trees are a hindrance to us and the Orcs so we will use them for surprise and cover. We are few. We must make the Orcs think we are many. Willofain is no soldier so we will make her seem even more vulnerable. The longknives that Zalog fears are ours. Have either of you ever made a self bow – of wood only?"   
  
"Yes," they said. "They break after little use," added Willofain.  
  
"We only need them once. We need arrows to go with them. Ibun, start making arrows. Willofain, make bows. Take the knives. I have some extra bowstring. Ibun, is there an awl in your tool bag?"  
  
"Yes," said Ibun happily, rubbing his bruised head.  
  
"Good! This will be dangerous, especially for Willofain. We must first separate the Orcs from the captives and then…" He spoke quickly. They got busy.  
  
***  
Now the night wore on, and Zalog took counsel with his lieutenants on the prisoners. "We will keep these three alive, barely, as a gift for the Elf-king," the Orc said of Elwen, Blade-singer and Berendil. "The others die sooner. They will all die hard, though. Bring whips. Pile dry tinder beneath them and keep torches near."   
  
The danger in Legolas's plan was that the Orcs milled around the captives and their trees. They must be made to move away. But Legolas knew the camp's layout and how to place his troops.   
  
He whispered, "Ibun, I will take you to your place. Make no Dwarfish racket. When you hear my call, watch for Willofain. Then you know what to do." He led Ibun to the east side of the Elves' camp, as silently as a falling leaf. There were six self bows, set low to the ground among the trees. They rested on rough frames like Berendil's stringing frame for bowstrings. On each bow Legolas fitted two hand-made arrows, the points sharpened beyond expectation by use of the longknives. Ibun's awl had been at work too, making holes in the end of each arrow. Through the holes Legolas passed a fine string, barely a thread, with the ends held by Ibun. The stringed arrows pointed at one spot away from the camp fire. They would all fly at once when Ibun pulled. Maybe they would hit Orcs; certainly they would seem speeded by many archers.   
  
Next Legolas went round to the north side of camp where Willofain sat on the ground, her wrists bound in front of her and her ankles tied loosely so she could hobble. He whispered, "When you hear my call, move out where they can see you, but go no further. Then, draw back and lay low. I will make sure they do not touch you." He hoped.  
  
Finally he came to the west side of the clearing where Golden stood hidden. Besides his diamond arrow, Legolas had twelve more with metal heads in his quiver. He meant to use them well.   
  
He heard a whip crack and saw through the trees an Orc raising its arm for another blow at Berendil. Elwen shouted, "Stop!" and the Orcs laughed. One twisted the arrow in her shoulder.  
  
Now Legolas knew that if he lost his head they would surely die. Yet when he heard the crack and saw his sister bleed, his slow anger caught fire. He picked up the longknives. They felt warm and welcoming in his hands, like the clasp of a dear friend. The blades would have been too long for anyone else, but as Berendil once noted, Legolas had superior strength in his long-fingered hands. He slipped them into his quiver, mounted Golden, and uttered a harsh, un-Elf-like caw.  
  
Willofain finished counting to ten, stood up, hopped forward, and gave a piercing scream.   
  
The Orcs all turned and started toward the girl. "Why, here is Sweetmeat again," said Zalog. "We shall both eat and play well tonight." They rushed toward her and Willofain fumble backward, terrified to see countless copies of her worst nightmare reaching for her. Her foot struck a stone and she fell with a cry, senseless for the second time. But she had done her job.  
  
Ibun shook the twelve fine strings. Twelve arrows hurled from the east side of the camp, wounding six Orcs, mostly in the belly.  
  
The remaining Orcs whirled in the direction from which the arrows came, showing their backs to Legolas. So the first three targets were easy. The Orcs forgot about Willofain then. They turned toward the warrior in the woods, going for their bows, but their opponent was Legolas Greenleaf and they may as well not have troubled.  
  
The captives hanging in agony from their trees saw Legolas ride into the clearing from the west side. While the Orcs were still turning in his direction, he drew and loosed six more of his remaining good arrows. He moved so fast only Elvish eyes could track it. The six Orc-targets fell, leaving seven. Plus Zalog. Legolas had miscounted by one.  
  
"You!" yelled the Orc leader.  
  
"Do you believe in fate, Zalog?" said Legolas. "I do."  
  
"Beware!" screamed Elwen as an Orc approached Golden from the blind side. From the east edge of camp came an answering shout that made the heart of Theall sing: "Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!" Ibun his son was speaking the ancient Dwarvish battle cry. His throwing axe was in hand, and then it was no longer in his hand and the Orc's head split like an overripe fruit.   
  
This was no longer a night of sport for Zalog's band. Two fled the clearing. Legolas the night-sighted marked them, strung and loosed one arrow, and skewered them both through their hearts. He shot two more fleeing Orcs, leaving the quiver empty save for his diamond arrow and the longknives. Legolas pulled them out and they gleamed in the light of the camp fire. And then what happened was like the battle madness of Fingolfin and no one there, not even Blade-singer Berendil, ever saw the like again.  
  
Legolas stood on his horse's back and raised the two knives high. "I claim these longknives! No other hands can hold them. Yet if they slay you, Zalog, still your thoughts will live inside my mind. So my test is not in killing you. It is in not killing you. I do not need the knives for that."   
  
Under the dark trees the horse plunged at Zalog. He screamed a long wild scream of defiance and fear as Legolas leapt toward him, knives held high. No one saw his left arm move, so fast did it fly, yet Berendil saw a flash and then an Orc fell headless while one longknife buried itself nearly blade-deep in a tree. They all heard its reverberating shudder.   
  
The second longknife flashed in flight the same, and the last Orc soldier died of a sliced neck. Its torch fell beneath the captives and the tinder began to burn.  
  
Legolas fell on Zalog like Manwë's eagle and grappled him to the ground while Berendil, Blade-singer, and Tûr looked on horrified, thinking, O Elbereth! Hand to hand with a Mordor Orc.  
  
Hand to hand it was as they rolled over and over, seeking the advantage. Their strength was equal but Zalog had talons on his hands. Legolas felt them rake his flesh as Zalog pinned him to the ground. Flames leaped toward the hanging captives. He saw Ibun hacking at their chains. Zalog's grip tightened around his throat. As the Seen world faded, Legolas located that dark part of his mind where Zalog's thoughts lived. The Orc's spirit choked Legolas as if the Elf's fëa had a throat and Zalog's, hands. See, Zalog! Legolas sent unguarded to his enemy and he felt Zalog move within his mind. Pulling up his legs, he kicked into the Orc's guts while giving a great, Unseen, pull, tearing away a veil.   
  
Zalog flung himself away from Legolas and fled in the night, wailing, to spread the fearsome legend of Legolas among the Orcs. (As did Ibun among the Dwarves, later, and Willofain among Mortals.)  
  
Legolas stood, rejoicing in the clearing of Zalog from his mind. He leaped, bleeding, towards the captives as the fire burned beneath them. Then a new voice spoke. "Legolas! Pull the longknives from the trees and cut those chains. Hurry!"  
  
It was Queen Elsila on her white horse, with a bent bow.  
  
***  
  
"Our southern march wardens found Amdir," Elsila explained. "A Silvan whom Zalog tormented. War is coming. Thranduil has gone to look for you in Wild Water Village, but I had a strong feeling you would be here. Let us leave quickly. Legolas, Elwen! To me." Her children came and stood before her. She put away the bow and placed her hands upon them.   
  
"Legolas, your hurt is greater. I would treat your wound in town where there are clean bandages, hot water, and medicines. I did not bring my own. Climb behind me and be ready to ride hard. Berendil! Put the Dwarves on Golden and make sure they get to town."  
  
"I will, Milady," said Berendil.  
  
"Blade-singer, kill any Orcs that yet live. Bessain, finish putting out the fire. Keep an eye on -"   
  
"I will not sit a-horse," said Theall.  
  
All activity stopped. Elsila turned her horse around. She fixed Theall with a look that, had he been Ibun uncured, he would have still understood perfectly. "Mount now," she said. The silver part of her eyes turned steely.  
  
"Better do it," advised Bessain. Berendil knelt and put his hands under the Dwarf's boot. "Hup!" he said, and Theall was on Golden, followed by Ibun. By then Elsila and Legolas were gone.  
  
Willofain the forgotten regained herself and stood up, dazed. The last she ever saw of Legolas (although it was not the last he saw of her) was his bloodied back receding through the trees as he and Elsila headed for the Dwarf Road.  
  
***Elwen and Willofain***  
  
"We follow Elsila to Wild Water Village as quickly as we can," Blade-singer told the others. "But first there is the matter of the Mortal. She seems to be a prisoner. What is your will, Daughter-heir?"   
  
Elwen's temper burned hot as Thranduil's. She did not hesitate. "Unbind her. I have words to speak." She continued in Westron as they removed the bonds. "The Dwarf told me of your doings, Girl. If you had more incompetence, or my brother less luck, he would be dead of your arrow. Moreover you endangered us all by taking what was not yours and leading the Orcs to our camp. They killed my horse. Hear me, Willofain. Leave now. Never come within sight of me or mine again, or I will not show mercy."  
  
Now when Willofain heard Elwen's words she knew there would never be a place for her in the world of Elves, and she loved Legolas and her heart broke. But she remembered the advice of her long-dead mother who once said, when you are disappointed hold your head high.  
  
So Willofain lifted her chin, looked Elwen in the eye, and said, "I have little in this world, Lady of Elves, save my fate to shape as best I can, and enough pride to go when I am not wanted. But I leave you with a wish for good fortune. May you never make a mistake with your weapon, Lady, and if you do, may you not regret it with so much bitterness as I." She turned on her heel and walked a long way toward Wild Water Village before she allowed herself to weep.  
  
The Elves cast down their eyes. "Daughter of Thranduil, perhaps you were harsh," said Berendil.  
  
"Perhaps I was, Berendil, and when you see Thranduil next you may petition him in this matter. I will abide by his decision. But Thranduil is not here, and I have declared my will."  
  
"Yours to command, Lady," said Berendil, and they spoke no more of Willofain till another fateful night.  
  
***Good Night, Sweet Prince***  
  
There was a indeed brief respite before the world of Legolas changed, and it occurred next evening at the merry market fair at Wild Water Village. Master Bruno of the Swan and Cygnet was a happy man. His best, most expensive rooms were fully occupied – by Elves! – and Theall the Dwarf-lord had the next best. So overjoyed was Theall at the cure of his son that he paid the Elves' bill in gold and waited upon Legolas like a servant. Bruno was amused:  
  
"I accept your thanks, although I did little enough for Ibun," said Legolas. "I and my family have no wish for your service."  
  
"It is the way my people show their undying gratitude," said Theall.  
  
"I release you from the obligation," said Legolas, hoping to sound princely.  
  
Theall chuckled at Legolas's naïveté. "Only Aulë can do that," he explained.   
  
Legolas grew impatient. "There is ancient enmity between our races. Ask your loremasters."  
  
"For you we cancel all enmity. One of our Dwarf-kin shall be near you for the rest of your days on Middle-earth, Lord Legolas."  
  
At this point Bruno intervened, saying that Thranduil called for his son, and so let Legolas get away for a while. Legolas found Thranduil sitting on the inn's front porch swing as if in his throne room, with Elsila on one side and Berendil on the other. The porch was crowded with party-goers. Bessain and Tûr were nearby, speaking with Master Bruno and Harald the mayor. Bruno wanted Bessain to head his kitchens and Harald thought Tûr would be the perfect captain of guards. They smiled and promised to think on it.   
  
By Bruno's arrangement the Elves had a good view of the entire courtyard, which was ringed with tables and chairs (all full, and the tavern help were jumping), and filled with dancers under the colored lanterns and silver stars. The musicians' band stand was directly across from the front of the inn. Thranduil had to admit that, while they were not Elvish, the band played well - better when tipsy. Their music set feet tapping.   
  
"Look whom Elwen has found," said Thranduil. "at the table by the steps. It is Lord Nornë, Lady Silwin, and Lady Arwen."   
  
Legolas felt his heart beat faster. "Lady Arwen?"   
  
"Yes, Nornë says she recently came of age, and there is a good story. But we will greet them later. I have something to tell you, Legolas. For the courage and skill you showed in the rescue of the captives, we your elders declare that you are now come of age."  
  
His spirit soared as high as the sky. It is a wonderful moment for young Elves when they take their place among the adults. For Legolas it was doubly so, because now he could free himself of the childish oath of silence that had weighed upon him so long. He said,  
  
"Now I have something to tell you, Father. I got myself into a coil and could not speak sooner without being foresworn. Do you remember the visit of the Lothloriens?" And he told the whole story, describing his misbehavor in detail and emphasizing the strength and bravery of Arwen and Elwen. "I don't know why I got them to swear silence with me," he ended. "It seemed a good idea at the time, but it was wrong. I have learned to be wiser, I think. What is your will of me?"  
  
His parents and Berendil heard him out, saying nothing. Bessain however felt no need for silence.  
  
"What, indeed! You teased your sister, injured a guest! - put yourselves in harm's way so that breaking the stated rule was your only choice, and induced all to swear oath to keep your mischief secret! March him straight to the stables, Berendil, stopping only to pick a stout switch, and dust the seat of his breeches properly."  
  
Everyone on the porch broke into laughter at this save Bessain and Legolas. Bruno murmured "Ouch."  
  
"Bessain, do not put so much honey in your words!" Berendil implored. "Say what you mean! Legolas, be calm, for I shall do no such thing. The king just said our young hero here – he who saved our lives and cured that crazy Dwarf - is come of age. Your elders can no longer send you to the aunts and uncles, Legolas. Or had you forgotten?"  
  
Legolas looked so crestfallen it was comical. "Well – yes, I thought…" but he stopped, because what he thought made no sense when said aloud.  
  
"He means," said Thranduil helpfully, "that his conscience will not let him rest until your set him some penalty, or excuse him for good cause." He dabbed at his eyes. "I laugh at Bessain's indignation and not at you, my son. Yes, you were wrong to swear oath for a light reason, but you cannot be beaten for it. Your disobedience of the stated rule maybe was justified. And since that time I find no fault in your behavior. You learned from your mistakes. The greatest harm is loss of your peace of mind."  
  
"For one such as Legolas, that is no small loss," said Elsila. "So not all is set right."   
  
"Very well," said Thranduil. "Hear me, Legolas. The customs are mine to set aside if I will. I say you are fully come of age. Yet I will delay the effect of your status for one hour, so that you can settle this matter with Berendil one way or another, I care not how." But he did care. He gave Berendil a look as rich in meaning as any mind speech. "It is time to put away childish things."   
  
"Yours to command, Milord," said Berendil. "Legolas, we will continue this discussion elsewhere." The two of them left the front porch, pushing through the party-goers. As they went down the steps they came to the table where Elwen and Arwen sat. Elwen of course had been eavesdropping without shame.  
  
"Poor Legolas," she said, catching his hand and smiling. "Perhaps you will become the first Sindar in history to be beaten for breaking the stated rule after coming of age."  
  
He smiled his dazzling smile. "At least, Ladies, they cannot say of me I disobeyed it twice." He did not quite dare rumple Arwen's hair, but he reached out and gave Elwen's curls a good tug. So did Berendil.  
  
"Mind your business, Elwen," he said. "Come, Legolas, young lion."  
  
They are gone for an hour and if penalty or pardon pass between them, they never tell. But when they return, Legolas is light of heart and light of step. He wishes to dance, and he dances all night with everyone who asks, Elf and Mortal alike. His grace takes the breath of all who see him. Finally he approaches the table where his heart's desire sits with her near-kin.   
  
"Greetings, Legolas," says Lady Silwin with a smile. "I see you have fully recovered from the clumsy fall from your horse and your reluctance to bathe."  
  
Legolas laughs out loud. "Yes, Lady, but I am in need of many other improvements." He clasps Nornë's shoulder and bows low to Arwen: "You were right about my foolishness when we first met, Milady. Well did you name me Prince of Knaves."  
  
Arwen's feä has two sides. We know the stubborn side. We forgive her because we also know she will have great need of strength of will in her life. Compassion is her other attribute. For this we love her. She has found how to blend strength and love, and now she is fully come of age.   
  
"I take back that name," says she, "and call you Prince of Elves. Will you dance with me?"  
  
They dance; he holds her in his arms. A mighty bard once called him fair of face beyond the measure of Men. But Arwen is easily the most beautiful woman there or anywhere, and when Elsila and Elwen are there, that is saying something.   
  
Everyone meets someone they cannot have, or keep. For Willofain it is Legolas; for Arwen, Aragorn. For Mortals it is the Elves who to them are like stars – ancient and high beyond reach. For Elves it is the Mortals who, meteor-like, are born to burn, shine, and be gone.  
  
Arwen and Legolas dance and there is a moment when, almost, she could love him. They dance and Legolas never forgets it, because the night he comes of age is the best night of his life.  
  
END NOTES  
  
1. JRR Tolkien is of course the mighty bard who wrote of Legolas's fair face in "The Return of the King," Chapter IX, "The Last Debate."  
2. "Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!" – "Axes of the Dwarves! The Dwarves are upon you!" JRR Tolkien, "The Return of the King," Appendix F, "Of Other Races."  
3. Legolas's battle strategy derives from principles in "The Art of War" by Sun Tzu, Shambhala Pocket Classic Edition, 1991. Translated by Thomas Cleary. Personally I think Thranduil wrote "The Art of War" and gave it to Mortal Men.  
4. "Hamlet," W.Shakespeare, - Source of the captions "What Dreams May Come" (Act III, Scene I) and "Good-night Sweet Prince." (Act V, Scene 2. )  
5. "Legolas, young lion." There were lions in Middle-earth: "roe," singular "raw." See The Sindarin Dictionary, © The Sindarin dictionary project, 1999–2001, French law applies regarding intellectual property. http://www.uib.no/People/hnohf/gobeth.htm. "raw. II, (rhaw IV), pl. roe . (rhui I), n. lion . Ety/383, X/RH ¡ OS *rå pl. *råwi, CE *râu pl. râwi (RAW)."  



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